SWNOVELS Iceblade: Chapter 8
THE LAST SURVIVOR OF the five Elementals crawled back, wounded, to Maratic, desperate to reconnect with the power source that would heal him. But Valara was already there, surrounded by her warriors, and had learned to use enough of its power to forbid his entry. He might have eventually defeated her if he had stayed, recovered, waited, prepared, but the shock of having his whole world shattered was too much. He could not face the loneliness of waiting so many years, isolated in the wilderness.
He fled to Rapathia to join his brothers and sisters there.
The Story of Maratic, from the Eldaran archives.
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Kashia leads silently through the twisting streets to the district of lavish mansions and apartments near the palace, once home to the Samarian nobility. Her spies had reported that almost all of these houses have been commandeered by the invaders. Presumably the original occupants were either killed or have fled to hide in the houses of less conspicuously important friends.
The plan is to reach House Raksan using the city roofs and the buttressed arches that link them together. I had always thought the arches were merely street decoration but according to Kashia their main purpose is to serve as escape routes for people trapped by a house fire on the upper floors. It makes house security a deal more difficult, but then Samaran has been peaceful for long enough that such issues inevitably slide down everyone’s priority lists.
A dark shape emerges from a side street and beckons. One of Kashia’s spies, delegated to give us the most recently cleared safe route to House Raksan. He leads us on a circuitous patrol-avoiding course for a few more minutes, indicates a series of walls and ledges to reach the roof, and then fades back into the darkness.
We follow Kashia’s moves up the precarious holds to the roof. It is no more difficult than the route I used to gain entry to the Rose Mansion but without the burning worry for my sister driving me on it seems harder and more dangerous somehow. Or maybe it is because I still feel I’m helping with the execution of someone I should be defending.
Kashia raises a hand for halt and silence. The mansion that houses the overlords and warriors of House Raksan lies directly ahead. I crawl forward along the narrow top of the arched street-bridge and up to the last line of ridge tiles. At last I can see into the compound where the attack has to start.
Samarian urban houses might historically have relied on the main city walls to give them protection, but evidently this has not reassured the head of House Raksan. There are guards posted on every possible ledge and balcony and no doubt more outside in the street. Probably inside the rooms and corridors as well. We wait a few minutes for everyone to take note of guard numbers and positions, points of access, places to use as cover.
I am starting to see it as a three-dimensional Tican board, the shapes of the potential attack points glowing in front of my eyes as if illuminated by bright lanterns.
Marin points and whispers. “Ariel, Deris, that side. Brac, Kashia, the wall opposite. I’ll stay here with Nem. We need fire arrows sent into the three sides facing those positions so that Trengar can drop down to the only balcony that remains clear and fight his way inside the house.”
The Tican board in my head is superimposed on the shape of the house and it springs to life as he speaks, highlighting one of the attack routes I had already noticed. A quick check against the other possibilities and I can see that it is the best choice. Thanks to Marin’s years of experience I suppose. I wonder if I’ll survive long enough to learn to make judgements with that kind of speed and accuracy.
We pause briefly for each of us to clasp Trengar’s hand in farewell. He seems calmer now he is so close to his goal. He acknowledges each of us in turn but he seems distant somehow, as if he is already walking that strange world between the living and the dead.
Is this how it was with the Five Warriors so many centuries ago?
I follow Deris round to the point Marin indicated. Looking back I can just see the outlines of the others in the moonlight as we wait. I hardly dare breathe.
Marin raises his arm, Deris strikes flint and tinder, we light our arrows and release. And again. The dry twisting stems of the climbing vines ignite and set several fires exactly where we need them. Shouts of alarm echo from below and guards run to douse the flames, while others send arrows blindly towards the roof, hoping to strike back at their attackers.
Something tells me this is too easy. The Rapathians know they have made their base in a hostile city. They must have prepared better than this. Even as this thought occurs, I hear the sound of heavily-armed men moving hurriedly into position in the streets outside the compound, surrounding us. We’ll be horribly exposed to their arrows as we try to retreat across the narrow bridge that is our only escape. I hope Marin and Kashia have something good planned.
Our orders are to use every fire arrow we have and not retreat until the fire is well set. It feels reckless but even though it’s a new experience for me, there is something reassuring about simply following orders for a change.
Trengar has made no move yet. There is no need for him to get inside the house now that the courtyard is thick with Rapathian warriors, many of whom are covered in enough jewels to mark them as scions of the Raksan line. The rain of arrows they are sending our way would be deadly if it weren’t for the fashion in Corinium for large and ornate chimneys that provide partial protection––so long as we lie flat against the slope of the roof.
I’m down to my last four arrows when I see a dark shape detach itself from the side Marin has been covering. The eerie red light of the flames catches on Trengar’s powerful body as he drops three times his own height onto one of the balconies and swings effortlessly down into the courtyard. The guards immediately turn on him, their blades flashing red-gold in the firelight.
And then something extraordinary happens. Trengar seems to move in a perfect dance between the warriors surrounding him and men start falling like sheaves of corn in a harvest. Even with the uncertain light and overwhelming odds he is cutting a path through high-ranking officers and aristocrats with uncanny accuracy, avoiding foot-soldiers where he can.
I am so caught in the vision that I forget my orders to use my last four arrows until I feel a prod on my shoulder and turn to see Deris waving flint and tinder at me. I shake my head to force my mind to focus, then light an arrow and drop it into the back of the largest group threatening Trengar. It causes exactly the kind of distraction I hoped for, giving him the chance to cut his way clear. As other fire arrows deflect the attacks on him I almost think he might make it out of there. Somehow.
Then I hear the harsh voice I have been anticipating and dreading since I first heard the name House Raksan.
Akadian.
He strides out of the main door, yelling orders at his men in furious Rapathian, elbowing them aside until he faces Trengar. He bellows a throaty challenge but Trengar refuses to fight him. He stands straight and looks Akadian in the eye as he speaks clearly in Rapathian. As usual, I don’t understand much of it but the word ‘Kandil’ and the defiant tone of the message leaves little to the imagination. He is telling Akadian that his house has just been destroyed in revenge for the slaughter during the lion hunt and clan Kandil will laugh in triumph as they trample on its ruins. Or words to that effect.
Akadian lets out a roar of fury and attacks. I send a fervent prayer to the Five that Trengar’s strength will be enough to do what I could not and remove the cruel general once and for all.
Maybe if Akadian had fewer guards around him it might be possible. If Trengar hadn’t already been wounded it might be possible. But victory for Trengar is not going to happen, not with so many heavily-armed warriors ranged against him. I can feel every cut and stab as I watch him slowly forced back against the wall. He is bleeding heavily from several deep slashes now as more Rapathians step in to fill every gap he manages to make in their lines.
I don’t want to watch the end but I somehow feel I must, even though I could hardly abandon him more by running away than by simply hiding up here to watch him die. He grips one of the stone pillars to keep himself on his feet but his arm is weakened from a deep cut through his shoulder and his movements have slowed.
I notice how Akadian has a particular skill at yelling orders as if he is leading the charge––and then holding back while others take the brunt of the battle. As soon as he sees Trengar weakened and leaning against the wall for support, he steps forward.
I hold my breath, fearful he will engage in the same cruel torment he inflicted on the lion… and my worst fears start playing out in the flickering red glare of the flames.
Akadian waves his men back with a few curt phrases that probably label them as puny weaklings who need to be shown how it should be done. I watch him circling Trengar just as he circled the dying lion, stabbing and cutting as if he is creating a sculpture in living flesh and blood. At every stroke he barks a question and Trengar desperately tries to answer even though he is struggling just to stay on his feet. The fearful thought occurs that his courage may have failed him at the last and he is about to betray us.
I glance at Deris, unsure whether he understands more Rapathian than I do. I really don’t have the wide range of skills I would need to be any good as an assassin. Then I look back at Trengar and catch a word I know only too well from Brac’s list of faces and descriptions. The name of the current leader of House Kandil––and in the next instant a dark arrow buries itself in Trengar’s heart. Slowly, he sinks to the blood-soaked ground and lies still. Instinctively, I look up to the source of the killing shot and see Nem’s diminutive yet muscular figure silhouetted against the starlit sky for a brief moment before she slips out of sight beyond the roof ridge.
“Ariel, go!” Deris hisses in my ear and pulls me across the roof, heading for our starting point where Marin is waiting.
“How do we get out of here?” I’m torn between wanting to survive and feeling that I should die here with Trengar.
“Kashia knows.” Deris pulls me flat onto the tiles as a deadly flight of arrows from the street below hisses past our heads.
I don’t feel too optimistic about what might come next.
“I hope she brought us some wings then. I can’t see us making it out of here with anything less.”
“Put your trust in her spy network and follow orders.” Deris heads back to rejoin Marin, keeping low and out of sight.
We reach the rendezvous. Marin points to the narrow arched buttress that brought us here, even though the street below is now filled with Rapathian archers. The slender perched bridge gives us almost no cover––and several of Akadian’s guards have now reached the rooftop behind us and are closing in fast.
Kashia darts forward and throws several objects that look like large eggs down onto the archers’ heads. Acrid smoke billows out to the sound of coughing and cursing. She pushes the others onto the bridge and turns to me.
“Hold them back as long as you can. As soon as the smoke reaches you, run!”
I almost tell her it already has. My eyes are watering and the back of my throat feels raw. Still, from the angry swearing coming from the street below I’m guessing it will soon get a hell of a lot worse. I stop in the middle of the bridge and turn to face the approaching soldiers. At least there is only enough width for one of them to attack me at one time.
The first heavily-built guard approaches, swinging his heavy sword at my neck, making it easy to drop to one knee and watch him lurch to one side as I thrust upwards through his belly. The pain completes his loss of balance enough to tip him off the narrow bridge into the street. Conveniently on top of the coughing archers.
I wonder if Kashia has planned every stage with a Tican board of her own or relied on a certain amount of luck. Glancing behind me at the progress the others are making across the roof ridge doesn’t look too promising in the luck department. Enemy soldiers have already outflanked us and are approaching along the rooftops from the opposite direction.
Then acrid smoke floats up from below and starts to curl around my legs. Every move I make is helping it rise further towards my head.
I take a deep breath and hold it until I see the swordsman I’m fighting start to cough and gasp. I catch the right moment of distraction and slash down hard on his sword hand, feeling the crunch of crysteel slicing through wrist bones as the heavy sword clatters to the street below and he staggers back clutching the blood-spurting stump. One powerful kick to his ankle and he follows his sword, landing on the archers beneath us with a torrent of curses.
Time to go, while I can still just about see straight. The others have made some progress across the roof. Then I see Kashia waving us to a different ridge-line heading north.
I follow without question, glancing back only once to see her throw a few more smoke-filled eggs at our pursuers before I focus on running into the warm night, the ridge tiles creaking under my feet.